


Empty Pockets

by Chancy_Lurking



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Request Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 18:37:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5596561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chancy_Lurking/pseuds/Chancy_Lurking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just a wallet. Intrinsically, Harold knew this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Pockets

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back based on the I want the K meme monkeydra posted on tumblr.
> 
> Forehead Kiss ft. Rinch!

It was just a wallet. Intrinsically, Harold knew this.

He had attached no sentimental value to the worn leather, no baby pictures hidden in the folds and no good luck charms. It hadn’t been expensive and certainly now, under the present circumstances, there had been nothing worth stealing inside as the person who had picked his pocket was soon to find out. He dressed in nice suits because all he had at the moment were nice suits – there was no money behind them, no accounts to drain. For all intents and purposes, the thief had made off with nothing more than a twenty dollar wallet and a burned fake id.

And yet still, Harold was frozen with overwhelming terror, feeling more lost than he had in a very long time. Since 2002 he had been walking around with eyes on his back. For years, the machine he’d created, _The_ Machine had been watching over him even without being prompted and sometimes even _against_ direct commands. He’d been guarded almost every moment of his day, even if just from something as unobtrusive as a common thief. Had The Machine still been functional, had it still been _alive_ , it could’ve prevented this without him even really being aware of what it was doing.

As of late, it was impossible to not be hyperaware of his status as a wanted man, this time without the aid of a semi-sentient artificial intelligence program planning his steps. Every camera was a threat, every person an operative, and Harold would be getting no phone calls to warn him about any of them. He’d known that from the moment he watched his creation force itself into a briefcase, _running for her life_. Things would be different now, there was no angel or god or anything else looking out for him now. He’d known that for months now.

Yet still, standing in the middle of a busy street far from any familiar place, Harold felt the loss of The Machine with a sudden onset of grief so intense it stole his breath.

He’d just lost his only child.

The city swirled around him, a mass of people and noises he couldn’t make sense of and was presently drowning in. He felt the lingering dread and panic he’d forced himself not to focus on since the rise of Samaritan washing over him. He wanted to run, but even without the limitations of his body, he couldn’t navigate _breathing_ properly let alone actually moving.

He couldn’t be too sure how long he stood there, the crowd brushing past him and looking through him, all sense of time fading beneath the roaring terror in his mind.

It wasn’t until he felt something soft press against his calves, snuffling at his hand that he realized he now had company. This time the warmth of the body at his side was not attempting to move past, but pressing close to his side and slipping something into his hand.

Fresh alarm was slow to set in, but before he could properly react there were a pair of lips pressed against his temple and he drew in a startled breath.

“Finch,” a familiar voice muttered softly against his skin, calming the cold fear that had shot through his stomach.

Harold turned to look up into John’s face, eyes wide and finally seeing what was in front of him. This time the buildings blurred because he couldn’t see past the concern marring the relief on John’s face. He was standing against Harold’s side, one hand resting gently against his back and the other pressing Bear’s leash into his palm.

Reese kissed the center of his forehead. “I thought I told you not to go out without us,” he said, stroking up and down Harold’s back. “Bear was worried sick.” Teasing, Harold knew, but his tone still betrayed some of the fleeting unease at having been separated.

There was a pause in which Finch could not even begin to formulate a response. His chest was still tight with anxiety, but in the presence of his loved ones it was no longer mind-numbingly so. His senses started to return to him, slowly, enough that he could hear the street around them, too noisy and too close. He was trembling, he realized, Bear’s leash jingling in his hand even as John held it.

“Finch,” John murmured again, kissing between his eyes and taking his hand off Harold’s spine to cup his cheek. “Can you speak?”

Harold didn’t realize there were tears in his eyes until he blinked and they spilled onto John’s hand.

“John,” he whispered and his voice came out scratchy and odd. The hand that had been limp at his side suddenly came up to fist in John’s jacket, “ _John._ ”

“Yes, Harold?” John replied placidly, wiping the tears off Harold’s face.

“I don’t…” Harold didn’t look away from him, couldn’t bear to face more than his companion at the moment. “I don’t think I want to be here any longer.” he answered shakily, trying to breathe deeply against the pounding of his heart. He closed his eyes when John kissed his face once more, before taking a small step back.

“Ok,” The man smiled – more with his eyes than his mouth, but still – and turned them back towards their temporary dwelling. “No reason to stay, then.”

They fell into step easily, John’s sheer presence parting the crowd before them as they went. Harold still found it dizzying, the smell and sounds of this street, but for the time being, he felt more grounded. With John’s arm around him on one side and Bear trotting obediently on the other, the world seemed a lot less overwhelming. This was familiar and this was safe; he was surrounded and the world outside could not reach him. He was not drowning alone in the ocean, he had friends who would help him swim.

The Machine had made sure it’s Admin would not be alone, well before finding itself in danger of going offline. She had always made sure her father would be looked after.

“I’m sorry,” Harold said thickly, embarrassment rolling in behind his receding fears. “I don’t know what’s gotten ahold of me.” It wasn’t quite true, but John would know that, the same way he would know not to ask.

So of course, right on cue, John smirked down at him.

“Me, of course,” John kissed his temple again, partly for the joy of seeing him self-aware enough to blush this time. “Who else?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you thought!
> 
> Edited for grammar.


End file.
